Dean, Stop Abusing the Wall
by dealiebobbette
Summary: Dean can't stop thinking about Cas and cannot see any other solution to this other than hitting the wall multiple times.


Alone. Finally. Alone let Dean's head sink to his pillow with the weight of his thoughts. Alone let him see images long forgotten, discarded. Alone let his mind wander beyond its reach, piercing veils and breaking down walls that had each been put up for a reason, to sharpen his mind, to help him concentrate, or to generally ensure he wasn't smashed to pieces. Alone let the ghosts of his loved ones hover before his closed eyes. Alone, for Dean Winchester, was never a good thing. It was dangerous.

But he had convinced himself he needed it, so he just blasted some Metallica in the hopes of drowning himself out. And, well, because it comforted him.

He slapped his hand against the wall as hard as he could to stop himself from doing something else that comforted him. It didn't help; he just ended up doing it anyway.

"Cas?" Dean posed like a question. As if it were a two-way conversation. He sighed. "Cas, man,

I know you're not listening. I know you aren't. But . . . but I'm just gonna talk to you anyway, alright?" He waited, and then caught himself expecting an answer again. He shut his eyes and inhaled sharply through his nose. And he laughed cynically. "I always think you're gonna say something. Every time I always think, you know, maybe today. I don't know why. I don't know why I do this. Why I try to talk to you. You don't care. I guess I thought you did." He still smiled that ironic, grimacing smile. "You don't. Well, you know what? Fuck it. I don't need you. Can you hear me? I _do not need you_, you selfish bastard! Fuck you!" Dean had been clenching his fists to keep himself from abusing the wall again, but now, with a violent _wham_, he just let it out. He lay back down on his bed and turned his music up even louder. He felt liberated. And even more alone. He didn't care. He tried to let his music fill him once again.

Sam had been in his room, researching creatures on his laptop out for nothing other than force of habit, when he heard his brother's music, loud enough to deafen any surrounding wildlife, he was sure. He laughed mirthfully – Dean was like an angsty sixteen-year-old, honestly. He vaguely wondered he should go check on him; then he recognized the song that was playing. He put his head in his hands. He should leave it alone, just let it be. Dean would be okay in a minute. He could handle it himself.

_No, he can't,_ Sam thought to himself; _he never knows what to do when he's like this._ It was true, and he knew it. He let out an exasperated breath, and, somewhat begrudgingly, bowed his head.

"Okay, um . . . Castiel – look, I really don't know what I'm doing, or how this works, but I've got something to tell you. I'm sure you know this, but he prays to you nearly every day now. He thinks I don't know, but he always listens to the same Metallica album when he is. He comes out of his room looking like a total wreck. It's actually a little pathetic." He had to pause to breathe, then continued. "It's sad, man. It worries me to see him like this. He – Cas, he _needs_ you. And don't pretend you don't need him, too." Sam had taken on a more commanding and angry tone than he began with, and he had to stop himself from shouting. "Castiel, if you still even give half a damn about the man you dragged out of Hell, then you better drag your sorry ass into his room and say so, damn it. Understand?" He got no answer. He sighed, closed his laptop, and shut off his lamp. Just as he was drifting off, however, he could swear he heard a coarse, quiet, "Yes, I understand."

Dean was wrong – Castiel heard every one of his prayers. Every day. He actually wished he _couldn't_, and he _tried_ to ignore them. He was listening to Dean lose more and more faith in him, every single day. It caused an awful, open pain inside him that he had no idea how to describe, until one day he remembered the word – heartbreaking. Dean's prayers were heartbreaking. It was a fitting term, Cas thought. It accurately described the sensation.

It was only ever Dean who prayed, though. Sam had never really found a reason to, or maybe he had lost faith in Cas long ago. Either way, Cas knew that when Sam said a prayer, it was only out of true desperation. So he listened. He listened to what Sam said, and was surprised by his blunt statements – "Cas, he _needs_ you," – and his uncharacteristically assertive tone. He thought through all Sam had said. This was Sam, who never prayed, now doing so on his older brother's behalf. That meant something. So he made a quiet promise to him, one he knew he would have to keep.

Sammy was asleep now, so Dean turned his music down a little. Christ, the kid snored like a broken-down old car without a muffler. Dean was still in a sour mood. His mind kept poking around in every little thing it shouldn't; more specifically, an angel he did _not_ want to think about anymore that kept invading his head.

"I don't _need_ you!" Dean yelled again. He didn't know how many times it had been now, or how many punches the wall had sustained. It was stupid; hell of a lot better than crying, though.

"I don't need you," he said, more quietly now. Who he was trying to convince was a detail that had been lost in the mail a while ago.

"Yes, you do," a deep voice across the room replied simply.

Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. He recovered quickly; still staring at the ground, he saw the tails of a trenchcoat brushing it. "What are you doing here?" Dean growled, looking up at the angel, "And what do you mean?"

"I am here because you prayed for me, Dean, and what I meant was yes, you do need me." Castiel said all this in a rather matter-of-fact way.

Dean was livid. He didn't even attempt to contain himself. "I don't want anything to do with you!" He was shouting now. "And even if I did, how would you know? You never listen to me, anyway!"

"I always hear your prayers, Dean."

That was enough to shock Dean into silence.

"You . . . you do?" he said finally. He was squinting, unbelieving.

"Of course I do. All of them," Cas said, then cast his eyes to the floor. "And I deserve every word you say."

"Cas, I –"

"Dean, I love you," Cas cut in abruptly. Dean fell silent once again. "I love you, and I need you, and _I am sorry_." He stared into Dean's eyes as he said it, and he continued, "You don't have to say it. You don't need to, I know, and that's what I was saying, and –"

Dean's lips, suddenly pressed against his, interrupted Castiel's rambling. The kiss was deep, but not greedy, just full, and said everything Dean needed to say. But then he pulled back. He had to _say_ it. He put his lips to Cas's ear, and whispered, "I love you, too." These words, Cas knew, Dean saved for only the very important, and they sent shivers down his spine. He moved his head so he and Dean could kiss again, and Dean wrapped his arms around Cas's waist and pulled him even closer. Dean couldn't think, speak, or do much of anything other than take in all of Cas; how surprisingly soft his lips were, his smell, his taste, everything. Cas broke it to kiss Dean's neck. "My angel," Dean moaned softly, "Oh, my angel." Which, of course, only made Cas grip him tighter and move back up to Dean's lips to kiss him harder. His tongue invaded Dean's mouth and Dean pushed Cas against the wall. He laughed lightly at the small noise. He was sure the wall didn't mind _this_ kind of abuse.


End file.
